Suzanne Wright - From Rags

He dropped his forehead to hers and sighed. “Jaxx, I do care about you.”

“I know.” She tried to leave his arms but he tightened his hold and mashed his lips with hers. For once, it wasn’t a kiss of hunger. It was a kiss filled with feeling and adoration and a hint of desperation. But that affection was just like a slap in the face because it was nowhere near enough. The verbal equivalent of this moment would have been for her to say ‘I love you’ and him to say ‘thank you’ or ‘and I love spending time with you ’.

Jaxxon tore her lips free and stepped away. “Will you promise me something?” He said nothing but she continued, “I want you to promise me you won’t get in touch. No texts, no calls, no surprise visits.”

“Jaxx -”

“I want to get on with my life, Connor, I want to face this head-on like I’m going to do with what happened with Sean and like I do everything with else, but I can’t do that if you’re popping in and out of my life whenever your addiction gets too much.”

“You honestly think we can cut each other out of our lives just like that?” He’d always known it would have to be this way, always, but now that it was actually happening, his mind, body and soul were fighting it.

“Are you saying you can give me more than casual?” It was a rhetorical question but when he didn’t say ‘no’ she was surprised. She refused to let hope well up inside her this time though. “Well?”

The words came out hoarse. “I can’t.”

“Then yes I can just cut you out.” And for the second time that day, she walked away from the bloke she loved.

Connor had never actually talked to a dog before, not like this. It turned out that they were good listeners. Bronty had lay on the sofa peering up at him with an almost worshipping look as if every word that came from Connor’s mouth was a pearl of perfect wisdom. Even better, there was no judgmental crap. He could easily tell the dog how he was missing Jaxx, how he couldn’t look at his kitchen counter without thinking about the time he lay her on it and shagged her senseless, how a shower was no longer relaxing because it only made him think of the mornings they’d spent in it, how every time he sat on the sofa he remembered the time she’d rode him on it so hard his dick should have snapped. Worse, he couldn’t stop dreaming about her night after night. He’d wake up sweating and aching for her and hard as a rock. Christ, she’d only been staying here a few days and the whole place was marked by her and memories of her.

Anyone else would have told him to shut the hell up moaning, but not Bronty. What the dog couldn’t help him with was the answer to the question of whether this was normal: Was this what it was like when you were trying to get over someone? At first he’d thought that this all must just be part and parcel of it all. But it had been five weeks now and if anything he felt worse. It was like he was grieving and no matter what he did, he couldn’t make peace with the fact that she’d gone. He couldn’t find it in him to accept the situation and move on.

Only one thing in his life was separate enough from her that it didn’t make him think of her: racing. Or so he had thought until he got to the test track and all of a sudden he remembered how she cute she’d looked that time when he’d sat her in an old sports car that was perched outside of a car museum.

He couldn’t even go the gym without talking to someone who ended up eventually asking ‘You still seeing Jaxxon Carter?’ Not once had he said no. The word never came out. He couldn’t bring himself to disclaim her, to say she wasn’t his, to face the fact that it was over. Somehow there was comfort in thinking that no one yet really knew the truth, it was nice to be around people who thought the status quo hadn’t changed because then he could pretend for just a while. Jesus, this really was like grieving. But was it normal?

He also wanted to know if this was how Jaxx was feeling. Or had she moved on like she’d said she would? Did she think about him? Did she miss him? Did she still love him? Was she happy? As much of a bastard as it made him, he hoped she wasn’t happy without him. He wanted her to be missing him as much as he was her. He knew that was cold and selfish but he didn’t want to believe she could cut him out as effortlessly as she’d made out she could.

So many times he’d had her number up on his Blackberry screen with his thumb hovering over the call button but never could he pluck up the courage. Then one night he finally pressed it…only to discover that she’d changed her number. That just made him feel even more like crap; knowing that she genuinely didn’t want to hear from him.

On top of all that, he had the knowledge that she was as far as Australia right now. The other side of the world from him. He was sorry he’d asked Warren to find out her location from Anna. He’d thought it would make him feel better to at least know where she was, but he’d come to the conclusion that nothing could make him feel better short of having her there in front of him.

The knock on the door had him groaning. As per usual, Bronty didn’t bark. Weren’t dogs supposed to go mental when someone invaded their territory? Shrug. The dog could do what the bloody hell he liked for being such a good listener. It wasn’t a surprise that the visitor was Dane. His judgmental frown wasn’t a shock either. And this was why he liked Bronty better.

“I didn’t see you at the gym, thought I’d pop round, see if you were alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

“Oh I dunno,” he said as he lounged in one of the chairs and Connor returned to the sofa. “Maybe because you’re spiraling into a state of depression all because you haven’t got the bollocks to go to the land down under and see her.”

“Oh don’t start, Dane.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“I’ve already told you, she told me not to go see her anyway.”

“What’s that got to do with anything? And why is there a brown stain all up the leg of your pants? Don’t tell me that’s dog shit.”

“Oh it’s, um, chocolate spread. I dropped it and some went on my pants.” Or, more accurately, he threw it in a rage when he found it under the bed and some of it splashed him as the tub burst.

“Why’s the dog still here?”

“Tony turned up the day Jaxx left but I said I’d keep him here.”

“And why would you do that?”

Maybe it would make sense for him to get rid of Bronty and anything else that reminded him of Jaxx, but even though having it all around him was torture, he didn’t want to let go of her. He didn’t want to forget her or the laughs they’d had.

“You do know Jaxx will want him back, don’t you?”

Connor’s voice was like a whip. “Don’t call her that.”

“Really bothers you that, doesn’t it? Soon enough she’ll be someone else’s Jaxx so get yourself ready for it.”

Slapping his hand over his face, Connor groaned. “Dane if you’ve come here to try to wind me up then just -”

Dane ignored him. “It’s not like you’ll get to enjoy the bliss of ignorance. It’ll be all over the papers, magazines.”

“ Dane .”

“And if she does have that Elvis wedding the photos will be everywhere.”

“Just out of interest, what did I do to you to deserve to listen to this?”

Luring him into a false sense of security, Dane quieted for a moment, letting Connor think the torture was over. “What are you going to do if you hear she’s pregnant?”

Connor’s eyes shot to his. “I’ll support the kid obviously.”

“I never meant with your baby you dumb dick. I meant with whoever she walks down the Elvis isle with.” As Connor took a long guzzle of his beer Dane saw just how much the idea of that pained him. “Why haven’t you flown out to see her? Don’t tell me it’s because she asked you not to. You jetted off to the Alps without hesitation, why not now?”